A/N: Here's Syrene Lovett, PeenissandClato will be providing our District Eight Male, Angevin Roi.
I have considered writing first person for a while, and odds are, that'll begin in the arena. It'll be an odd shift- from third person past (occasionally, I accidentally shift to present. Oops) to first person present, but in my opinion, it'd make the arena experience more believable and add another layer of depth to the tributes.
We're three quarters of the way through! Fun Fact- I've written May 22nd on so many papers. You know, reaping date totally represents my End of Course. Absolutely.
There's not much else to say besides Syrene Lovett was submitted by the ever-amazing LunarLionHeart and Angevin Roi was submitted by the wondrous xDisgraceAvengerx. Syrene is fifteen while Angevin is 16.
Enjoy the Textile kids!
Syrene Lovett
Lovett Household
May 21st, 3:17 P.M. Nineteen hours, forty-three minutes until the Reaping.
As Syrene released the multi-colored bag, a gift from her mother, onto the ground, she met a home of silence. When they'd lived in the industrial part of the district, she'd treasured any moment of peace and silence she could find. Now, she couldn't help but feel deserted.
For what felt like centuries, this muteness had descended around her with the withdrawal of her parents. They weren't dead, though they may've well been.
The last time Syrene had seen either of her parents in true form, not a midnight glance the usual note with money, had been years before. When they'd received the cursed promotion.
Her parents were specially gifted in their craft- designing. They worked together in unison, to a point where Syrene had begun to question if there was a romantic relationship at all.
But four years ago, as Syrene had just celebrated reaching the mere age of eleven, they'd received a notice. From the Capitol.
Their hours were set in stone- every day for twenty hours. Permanently. Orders sent directly from President Quinn herself. The underlying threat after the assigned times had been quite evident. She remembered it word for word.
My dear Lovett designers- I understand the economic shift may be difficult, but we all must adapt to different circumstances. I'd hate sweet, cunning Syrene to face such circumstances in the Games.
Ever since, she'd been isolated. With their pay, they'd send messengers, letters, gifts of all shapes and sizes, but Syrene desired none of it. She just wanted her mother, the bright and creative woman whose voice was undoubtedly from the heavens. She just wanted her father, the supporting man who'd never doubted his daughter's beliefs, yet all she had were neon book bags and gourmet meals.
She crept in the silence, not creating a sound, as if not to disturb the tranquility. Syrene had perfected the art. With all the secluded time, she'd accustomed to having no apparent sound, whether she'd preferred to or not.
Her feet shifted her to the window, where she gazed openly to Town Square.
The sight nearly made her heart burst.
Children, in rags and in silk, walked hand-in-hand with their parents, who laughed, whether they adorned make-up or dirt on their faces. It clearly didn't matter to any of them. No. Nothing mattered besides family.
Her hands bunched up the curtain, causing an unwelcome flinch to echo in the shattered silence. Syrene flinched angrily.
Syrene's silence was once again disturbed with rapid knocks on the door. Damn, who would bother her, of all people?
"Look, I don't want your ma-," she began, planning on finishing with 'materials.'
But her irritated growl was met not with a beggar or an inferior salesman, but by one of the few people remaining in her district that could make her vaguely pleased.
Before her stood Cordelia Pollux- a flamboyant girl who, interestingly enough, didn't have much payroll behind her to support her personality. Their relationship was one of yin and yang, Syrene stood proudly, with a stoic expression and unreadable eyes, while Cordelia would undoubtedly be at anybody's home with a can of something she shouldn't have laughing about herself within minutes.
And yet, no matter how ostentatious she was, Syrene envied her. The same way Cordelia envied her.
They both desired what the other had. It was human nature.
At least she has a family.
At least she has money to live off of.
Their jealousies never reached the point of bitterness, however. They could want all they possibly could, but they balanced each other out in an undefinable way.
"You don't want my ma? Why not? She's so fabulous!" Cordelia giggled as she welcomed herself into Syrene's home. Home. She hadn't referred to the silent area as home in a while.
"Who said you could enter?" Syrene said with a slight grin- Cordelia was here every other day, though her presence disturbed the silence Syrene'd accustomed to as of late.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Madame. I'll go out to the porch and kneel to your greatness," Cordelia said with equal verve. At this, Syrene tilted her head, tapping her chin in consideration.
"I believe that would be suitable," Syrene responded.
Cordelia burst into laughter as Syrene cracked a smile at their playful banter. Cordelia was like a sister- she was loud, annoying, and often rude, but Syrene, for once, didn't care.
She'd been raised to follow common courtesy- treat others the way you're treated was a phrase drilled in her early on, and she'd followed her beliefs steadily until she met Cordelia. If she could remember correctly, Cordelia had first encountered her intoxicated, and proceeded to… ah… release the liquids onto her.
Cordelia often told her of how her face had been the same color as the once-red dress.
She could never understand how they'd become friends.
The memory instigated an airy laugh that'd been waiting for release out of Syrene, as Cordelia's face rapidly switched from its usual tan to a color that dimly represented the description Cordelia so often told her.
"You're… you're a lunatic," Syrene let out between laughs. Cordelia, in return, clutched her stomach, murmuring something along the lines of, 'Stop it! It hurts!'
Eventually, both returned to their usual state, wiping away tears of laughter from their reddened faces. Syrene's old friend, Silence, made a re-entrance, but in a different form. Comfortable silence. Syrene actually appreciated this friend.
"You're just going to hole up in here for the rest of the day?" Cordelia said, cocking her head in thought.
"Well, there's not much to do in an industry district," Syrene responded in a small voice. Her mind immediately noted the industry districts- she had had a test the previous day over them. Districts… 3, 5, 6, 8, 12, and previously 13. Yes, that's right.
She turned back to her friend to meet an expectant look, and she could feel the question she didn't hear hanging in the air. Syrene responded in the upmost class and sophistication she'd been taught to use.
"Wait, what?"
Cordelia laughs lightly before repeating her words in an exaggeratingly slow speed.
"Are-you-kidding-me? Have you seen the Square lately? There are so many places to go! And best of all," Cordelia leaned in closer, whispering as if she spoke a secret of severe importance.
"Boys," her voice murmured as it encroached Syrene's eyes.
She rolled her eyes, ready to once again deny Cordelia on the topic of any social interaction as her friend's eyes met hers, pleadingly.
"The Reaping's tomorrow, and everyone wants to be out there! You know. Just in case…" Cordelia trailed off.
Syrene considered her words for a moment, not thinking of her odds, but Cordelia's. Her name should be in there at the minimum for their age, a meager four slips had she accepted Syrene's money instead of tesserae. Now… Syrene knew the number of tesserae taken out would be to support her family of four, not including Cordelia, herself.
It couldn't be less than twenty-five.
Cordelia's eyes communicated the unspoken chances, leaving Syrene to think. Eventually, her social resolve crumbled, and she sighed profoundly.
Cordelia most literally squeaked, yanking Syrene along the stone path, a minute walk at most. Considering the rate Cordelia was yanking her, they had probably reached the square in half the time.
In the midst of the lights and the unbelievably large crowd of her people around her, Syrene felt something she hadn't for a while.
She felt as if she belonged.
Syrene Lovett
Pollux Household
May 22nd, 8:46 A.M. One hour, fourteen minutes from the Reaping.
Syrene woke up to a mutt licking her.
Not the mutt that had killed rebels in the rebellion, but a more literal version. A dog that she'd recognized instantly.
The shaggy-haired, brown-eyed monster was yet another mouth the Pollux's had decided to feed with their measly income.
What was the thing doing in her home?
She sat up and instantly regretted. The pounding in her head was so intense that she'd nearly passed out.
Trying out another tactic, she rolled off the bed, something she'd look back to in shame for the rest of her days. She landed with a painful thud.
"Ugh… Argh… Er… Ah…" Syrene clutched in agony as both her head and chest painfully pulsed. It was at once that she recognized the pain in her chest- every girl past the age of twelve did. But her head?
The hound was sniffing delicately at her fallen figure, and she painfully used the unexpecting dog to rise from her position on the floor.
With a disapproving bark, it sauntered out the oak door before Syrene could get up. She moved from one piece of furniture to another, and as she continued, small details clicked. The fire truck-red clock in the corner that her father had bought for her, the door handle, and the crack in the glass alerted her of her existence in the Pollux Household.
She tilted her head in thought before grimacing in the pain and returning her entire frame to a straight position.
How did she get to Cordelia's house? Maybe she was studying when Cordelia had asked for assistance, or maybe the dog needed medical attention that Syrene had learned to give after her mother sent pamphlets teaching various techniques or-
Syrene felt a wave of both pain and disappoint roll over her as she finally recalled the past night. She'd actually… interacted with her district. Not only that, she drank.
So she was on her monthly, and was nursing a hangover.
She ran a hand through her unruly curls. She'd seen a girl from… Five? Six? Definitely an industry district that'd been drunk get reaped.
Syrene had watched the girl in disgust, yet she'd done the same thing as her. She'd disrespected her family name by not appreciating the Capitol ordinances.
She tried to be more disappointed, but after the initial discontent, Syrene actually felt… accomplished.
Carefully, yet clumsily, she rose using the bedpost. A wave of nausea ran over her, but she pushed forwards to the toilet where she released various fluids.
How grotesque.
After she had rid herself of every illness, she moved outwards, recognizing the room fully now. It was the guest room that Syrene had funded. It had been termite-infested, but after a quick repair, it was basically Syrene's.
She descended to the stairs to meet Tyke and Sufei. Both of Cordelia's siblings wore what must've been their reaping outfit- Sufei adorned a simply red skirt and a basic blouse while Tyke was wearing a clean white button-up and pants.
The ten and eleven year old looked at Syrene distantly. They almost hadn't recognized the aristocratic girl when she was wearing torn clothes.
"Siri?" Tyke said, squinting his already minute eyes as he tried to identify her. Syrene responded with a nod.
"Where's Cordelia?" Syrene questioned as she laced onto a couch to steady herself.
Sufei had opened her mouth to respond as a stronger voice took its place.
"Miss Lovett- oh! Dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Pollux shrieked as she rushed to Syrene's side. The woman beside her had become her motherly figure for the past four years, albeit Syrene providing the money.
"Oh dear, Cordelia did this, didn't she?" She clucked her tongue sadly. "I'm sorry, I'll try and-,"
"It's fine, Mrs. Pollux. It was my fault, I allowed her to take me Town Square," Syrene cut off, though kindly and respectfully. The woman had frequently blamed her own daughter for the duo's misadventures, and she had good reason. As she'd said before, Cordelia could be a lunatic.
Mrs. Pollux nodded, no longer upset about the incident since Syrene had apparently allowed it. She politely led Syrene to the nearest bath- Syrene had actually funded this one, too.
"I'll go fetch you a dress from your home," Mrs. Pollux began. Syrene frowned. Allora, as she'd preferred to be called, always treated Syrene too well. She knew it was out of thanks, but Syrene would've wasted the money on useless things, anyway.
"It's fine, Mrs. Pollux. Anything will do," Syrene responded.
"It's no big deal, Syrene, I can certainly-," Allora began, only to be finished by Syrene.
"I'm in your debt, here, Mrs. Pollux. I did wake up in your home in an inferior position. I'm very grateful and humbled," Syrene said in an almost robotic tone. She'd perfected that line years ago with the help of her father.
The woman's eyes twinkled in appreciation as she handed Syrene a towel.
"I'll go grab one of Cordelia's," she began, "Thank you, Syrene." she said before closing the door.
Syrene undressed from the tattered outfit and flipped the switch that instantly launched water out of the rickety faucet. She pushed the curtain to conceal herself just as the door creaked open, and she assumed Allora had brought a dress.
In the steaming water, Syrene closed her eyes, and once again, she returned to her eleven-year old self, silently thanking whichever god for the peace and silence.
Syrene Lovett
Pollux Residence
May 22nd, 9:50 A.M.
Apparently, closing her eyes in the shower with a hangover and a monthly somehow caused Syrene to doze off.
She woke to the gently knocking of Allora, who'd sent Cordelia, who'd been asleep before Syrene snoozed, with Tyke and Sufei to the Reaping.
The sweet-scented shampoo was the first thing Syrene consciously identified in the shower. Then, the knocking. She came to her senses and slammed the water off, hurriedly throwing on the outfit.
She recognized it. A cream dress that Cordelia had worn when she had thrown up all over Syrene.
Perhaps it wouldn't have been too much to ask for Mrs. Pollux to grab one of hers.
Syrene, without another option, adornedthe dress and swung the door open, where Allora and Hari, her calm, kind husband stood.
"I'm so sorry, I was just so tired, and-," she blabbered uncontrollably.
Now it was Allora's turn to be humble.
"Oh, it's fine, sweetie. Let's go to make sure the kids made it okay," she said as Hari sent a quiet hello with a quick wave of his hand.
Though not as near as Syrene's residence, the Pollux household wasn't terribly far from the Town Square. The trio arrived on time, though Syrene hadn't put on any make-up.
Great, I have a hangover and no make-up. May as well show up n*** and yell, 'I'm the Lovett's girl! Don't buy their stuff anymore! We have no class!'
Allora and Hari both wishes polite calls of luck as Syrene departed for her section. She searched the section of fifteen-year olds thoroughly, but to no avail. Cordelia was nowhere to be seen.
"It's alright," she murmured to herself. "I'll see her right after."
The crowd of fifteen-year olds slowly moved from the hungover, make-up-less girl who talked to herself. She was on a roll!
She was sure one was about to comment on her possible insanity when Mayor Childress approached the podium.
Personally, Syrene had always favored Mayor Childress. Even though she was originally from District One, she was a political mastermind, not a ditzy blond.
Her words were always calculated and intelligent, and her actions were to par. She'd been the one who passed the Children's Act- the act that supported children without family in the district, that'd supported Syrene, and indirectly the Pollux residence.
She recited her usual speech with articulation and precision. Once the Capitol-endorsed portion was over, she read the list of Victors.
For a group of knitters and designers, they had done well. Over twenty-three years, District Eight had accumulated a total of two victors. The first, Polio Austin, appeared drunk and overweight, much different from the cocky, attractive boy that had been reaped for the Eighth Hunger Games.
The second, Quinn Desential, was in Syrene's year. At that day and age, she was the youngest victor. She'd won the Twenty-First Games with that blowdart of hers at the age of thirteen.
The following year, Pasiphae Jacoby, another thirteen year old, from District One, also took the crown, but Pasiphae was two days older.
Quinn did not appear to suffer the same addiction or influence as her fellow Victor did. In fact, the once loose-leaf girl sat straighter, stronger. Her aura, even at the age of fifteen, radiated power.
Quinn nodded at her name, and Polio groaned.
Mayor Childress's words became distilled as she introduced the Capitolite representative onto stage.
Gyra Vine was exactly what she sounded like. Most likely, she'd changed her name, but some said that she'd been named that naturally, and was surgically changed to fit said name.
The forty year old stood, gears surgically implanted into several parts of her- her arms, legs, and face were full of them.
It didn't end there. Vines of varying shades of green sprouted out of her head, completely encompassing her hair. They wrapped around her body, though the width waned as it got further down her arm, to the point where the gears were still identifiable.
"Hello, District Ni-, er, Eight! The change has been wonderful!" she called happily. The crowd half-heartedly applauded, partially out of pity at the woman, partially out of fear of the Peacekeepers pointing guns.
"It has once again time to select tributes to represent District Eight! Let's follow tradition and start with the girl!" the gear-vine lady screeched.
She approached the massive glass dome and smiled at the crowd while her hand hovered over slips, occasionally clutching one and releasing it, undoubtedly to cause suspense.
Syrene understood what she was trying to do- her job, but this was just cruel. Grabbing at the possible of deaths of children? This witch was taking it too far.
Eventually, her hands enclosed on a slip and drew it dramatically. It flew out of the bowl and into her reading position. Syrene hadn't gotten enough time to say a prayer and probably freak out the kids around her.
"Cordelia Pollux!"
Syrene became a statue. Cordelia appeared from the group of fifteen-year olds opposite Syrene, at a position she'd never have seen.
She was visibly shaken. Fiercely shaken, but what could Syrene do? At least Cordelia had a chance with her slightly stronger physique.
The thoughts formulated quickly, and she realized the difference between a chance and a win. It was substantial.
If anyone was going to die, it couldn't be Cordelia, the bubbly girl with a family who needed her.
It could be Syrene, the girl without family. She knew her parents cared for her, but they didn't need her mentally like Cordelia's family did.
Syrene's parents could still send money.
So when Gyra asked non-expectantly for a volunteer for the shaken girl, a strong, confident voice erupted from the fifteen-year old section.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Out stepped a girl with bags freely showing under her eyes, confidence radiating from her presence. Her dress, though simple, was sophisticated and resilient.
On stage, Gyra was taken aback. She was pleased, of course, but still, surprised. The girl who'd volunteered was no physical threat, but based on the show she had put on, Gyra was ready to see her in the Games, representing her.
On stage, Quinn's posture immediately perfected itself in respect. Her eyes softened at the tired girl with depression clearly shown in several spots on her face. The poor girl reminded her of herself.
On stage, Polio shifted in his chair. This one had been different. Special. This one reminded him of Quinn. He looked her through and through, his bloodshot eyes were something they hadn't been for two years. Excited. She announced her name with this… ferocity. The kind of ferocity that won the Games. Syrene Lovett… he'd remember that.
On stage, Mayor Childress smirked. She knew this girl. Very well, actually. She had passed an act to keep the girl here. Her parents had been removed on her request. For Panem's benefit.
A world away, Gamemaker Ferring gasped wildly. The Pollux girl had been on the list. For reasons unknown, this girl had indirectly commit suicide. His eyes focused on the young threat- she was an issue, a flaw to his perfect record.
A world away, President Quinn raised an eyebrow. Gamemaker Ferring had failed. Not a good sign, screwing up her Reapings. But he'd be spared. Only because this one was just as much of an issue as Pollux girl, though neither girls knew of the power they held.
A world away, a man and a woman broke into tears. They'd been assured safety had they stopped everything. Their business was more than just pretty dresses.
They went by Daphne Lovett and Ladon Lovett, though their names were Daphne and Ladon Junger. The son and daughter of General Junger, leader of the rebellion, even at a young age.
"Oh, Syrene," President Quinn, originally Natalie Junger said to the screen. "It's been a while."
"We'll see whose blood you've acquired, dear niece."
A/N: Hm. Interesting, no?
Regular Questions, today:
How do you like Syrene?
How was the portrayal- was it confusing (towards the end, especially)?
Do you have critique?
How were the non-tribute characters, here? (Cordelia, Mrs. and Mr. Pollux, President Quinn, the mentors, and the stylist?)
I'm really proud of this chapter. I think I can say I'm steadily improving- I read District One, and I have to apologize to Emmeline C. Thornbrooke and seventhquill907 for that car crash.
Another round of applause for PeenissandClato!
Until District Nine!